


End Game

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Competition, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Playing against Kaga is never easy. Tsutsui struggles to eke out a win or even a close game under the best of circumstances, when Kaga is feeling generous or going gentle on him, and while this game may have started off well he can see the other boy getting more bored as Tsutsui ponders moves, losing interest and patience as Tsutsui becomes more flustered and stalls longer on every hand." Kaga is much better at Go than Tsutsui, but winning isn't everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End Game

Playing against Kaga is never easy. Tsutsui struggles to eke out a win or even a close game under the best of circumstances, when Kaga is feeling generous or going gentle on him, and while this game may have started off well he can see the other boy getting more bored as Tsutsui ponders moves, losing interest and patience as Tsutsui becomes more flustered and stalls longer on every hand. Now that Kaga has the other boy’s Go book in his hands -- claimed in a burst of irritation three hands ago -- Tsutsui can see the conclusion of the game like it’s taken the place of the pages in front of him, would resign right now if he weren’t clinging to a last shred of desperate hope.

“Hurry up,” Kaga says, flipping through the pages without really looking at the text written there. “This is why I never play with you, Tsutsui, it takes  _forever_.”

“I’m thinking,” Tsutsui protests. His glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose again; he moves to push them up, misjudges the distance and presses a fingertip to the lenses instead of the frames. The smudge makes him grimace, his anxious attention skipping to the blur at his vision, and he sighs in resignation as he pulls the frames off to wipe the glass clean with the edge of his shirt. “You’re always talking when I’m trying to make a move, it’s very distracting.”

It’s a weak protest, more of a whine in his throat than the growl that might effect a real change, and Kaga ignores it with a laugh. There’s movement in Tsutsui’s blurry periphery, a shift of a sleeve over the board, and his glasses are gone, pulled right out of his careful hold by Kaga’s fingers pressing prints onto one of the lenses.

“Hey!” Tsutsui complains, head coming up to track the motion of Kaga’s hand as he pulls the glasses towards him, lifts them to his face so he can pretend to wear them for a moment. “Give those back, I can’t play without them.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kaga says, leaning away to dodge Tsutsui’s reaching fingers. “You weren’t playing anyway, you don’t need glasses you aren’t using.”

“I can’t see the board!” Tsutsui makes another grab, his sense of distance blurred out of focus by his uncorrected vision, and Kaga catches his wrist with his free hand, holds Tsutsui in place one-handed while he casts the glasses aside with enough force that Tsutsui cringes.

“You don’t need to,” he says, and he’s grabbing at Tsutsui’s other wrist, holding the other boy back from further action as he moves. There’s a rustle of fabric, sudden motion and a shadow falling over Tsutsui’s features, and then the sound of Go stones clicking against each other, Kaga’s pants dragging carelessly over the surface of their half-done game as he climbs over the board to push Tsutsui backwards and to the floor.

“I was winning!” Tsutsui insists as the only protest he can offer. Kaga’s hold on his wrists is unshakeable, he knows from past experience, and even when he hears the board skid across the floor as Kaga kicks it back he can’t manage anything but a whine of concern.

“You were never winning,” Kaga says easily. His knees hit the floor on either side of Tsutsui’s hips, his weight settles down to pin the other boy the the floor. It’s only then that he lets Tsutsui’s wrists go, and only to push widespread fingers against the other’s shoulder. “You couldn’t beat me in a hundred years.”

“I might have,” Tsutsui attempts, but Kaga’s leaning in closer, near enough that his vision is resolving into clarity, and it’s always hard to breathe when the other boy is this close. “I might have this time.”

“No way,” Kaga says, the words almost laughter with how certain he sounds, and his mouth comes down against Tsutsui’s still humming with amusement. Tsutsui whimpers more out of lingering protest to the words than any complaint about the kiss, but the sound gets lost against the warm of Kaga’s mouth, and when the other boy licks against Tsutsui’s lips he parts them obediently without even an attempt at resistance. Kaga moves in without a moment’s hesitation, like he knew Tsutsui would capitulate before he ever asked, and Tsutsui would be more irked by this casual possession except that Kaga’s other hand is unfastening the buttons of his shirt and all his skin is flickering flame-hot in response to the other boy’s touch.

It’s always hard to focus, once Kaga has him like this. At least Tsutsui doesn’t have to be particularly coherent; Kaga is good at taking control, whether Tsutsui asks him to or not, and within a few minutes the other boy’s fingers are pressing hot as fire along the bottom edge of Tsutsui’s ribcage, dragging more friction in their wake than they reasonably should be able to do. Kaga pulls back, then, grinning bright enough that Tsutsui doesn’t have to see the expression to hear it in his voice when he says: “You always get all shaky, Tsutsui,” like he’s teasing the other for reacting to him.

“I can’t help it,” Tsutsui protests, and Kaga tenses his fingers, scrapes ticklish sensation up his side so he jerks and groans in a reaction that is half-reflexive withdrawal from the skittering friction and half voice for the slower burn rising low in his stomach. “You’re just playing with me, it’s mean.”

“You’re so fun to play with, though,” Kaga says, draws his hand in to the center of Tsutsui’s body and down the other’s stomach. Tsutsui shudders, anticipation taking over beyond any attempt to restrain his reaction, and Kaga’s palm bumps the top of his pants, dips down lower so he can tighten his fingers and press in flush against the fabric. It’s just glancing friction, pressure instead of the grinding motion that might offer some satisfaction, but Tsutsui moans anyway, his throat working out-of-logic with his body to offer a plea for more without bothering with an attempt at words.

Kaga just laughs. He has to be affected himself, Tsutsui knows somewhere in the heat-haze of his thoughts, but it doesn’t matter; Tsutsui can’t find the coherency or the nerve to act on his certainty as blatantly as Kaga does anyway. When he tries to lift a hand just to grab at Kaga’s shoulder the other boy lets his hand slide by an inch, pushes friction in against Tsutsui’s cock through the barrier of his clothes, and Tsutsui’s full-body tremor demands that he brace himself with a clinging grab at Kaga’s arm instead of his shoulder.

“Hey, Tsutsui,” Kaga’s saying, laughter still purring under his voice, and Tsutsui thinks it might be at his expense but he’s not sure how much he cares as long as the other boy doesn’t stop touching him. “Remember that time you came in your pants and had to borrow mine to get home?” He is laughing, the sound is interrupting the flow of his words, and Tsutsui is flushing with recollected embarrassment and immediate pleasure at once, friction lighting up over his skin until he thinks he might be glowing to Kaga’s sight. “What excuse did you use, huh?”

Tsutsui attempts an answer, the words breaking on his tongue. “I -- I said I spilled tea on myself.”

Kaga’s grin is white and sharp, turning his eyes dark and shadowy as he turns his hand and lets the pressure slide up, down, up again against Tsutsui’s pants. “Want to do it again?”

Tsutsui whimpers, turns the sound into refusal in his throat in counterpoint to the involuntary upward motion of his hips, his body trying to push in against Kaga’s touch in spite of the clothing between them. Kaga laughs at him again, a dark splash of sound, but he pulls his hand away anyway, moves back so he can settle his weight over Tsutsui’s legs and actually unfasten the other boy’s pants. Tsutsui’s hold falls away as soon as Kaga tugs, his strength to hold steady giving way along with the short-range clarity of his vision, and with Kaga out of clear sight he can shut his eyes, reach up to angle an arm over his face to block out the light.

“You’re a mess,” Kaga observes as Tsutsui’s zipper slides open and the other boy’s hands come up to tug at the clothing against his hips. “From the way you act anyone would think you’re still a virgin, you know.”

“Don’t tease me,” Tsutsui offers, a weak protest as his jeans and underwear slip down his legs to leave him bare for Kaga’s consideration. He can feel his cheeks flush dark, embarrassed in spite of himself, but the self-consciousness fails to so much as touch the interest flushing hard in his cock. If anything it just makes it worse, the awareness that Kaga can see just how badly Tsutsui wants this enough all by itself to send another rush of blood down Tsutsui’s body.

“It’s hard not to,” Kaga’s voice comes from the darkness of Tsutsui’s cut-off vision. He slides back, his weight pulling away and Tsutsui’s clothes going with it, slipping down the other’s legs and off his feet until there’s just the cool air of the room skimming over the other’s bare skin. Tsutsui knows how this goes, is angling his knees open before Kaga pushes them apart, and Kaga’s moving over him, reaching past Tsutsui’s shoulder so the edge of his shirt brushes the other’s bared chest. “You’re such an easy target.”

“You’re so  _mean_ ,” Tsutsui says, more an observation than a real protest. Kaga is leaning back, the brief contact against Tsutsui’s skin pulling away, and Tsutsui spreads his legs wider, gets a foot against the floor to brace himself. “Why aren’t you ever nice?”

“It’s not as fun,” Kaga says, almost laughing on the words. There’s a touch against Tsutsui’s knee, a warm hand curling underneath to lift him half-off the floor, and then another hand, fingers cool and slick with suggestion as they drag against Tsutsui’s skin. “You’re cute when you’re outraged.”

“ _What_?” Tsutsui blurts, his arm falling away as he blinks in a futile attempt at focus, and he just catches a glimpse of Kaga’s blurry smirk before the other’s touch pushes inside him. The angle is strange, deeper than usual from the way Kaga’s holding his leg up, and for a minute Tsutsui can’t think at all, can only tip his head back in instinctive reaction and wail overheated response. All his body is drawing tight, tension forming itself out of the blood in his veins and the heat of his skin, and Kaga is pushing deeper, his touch stretching Tsutsui open until Tsutsui can’t breathe, can’t catch an inhale and can’t remember how to breathe out. The aborted Go game is forgotten, even the awkward angle of his leg stops registering; all his existence is narrowing to the slide of Kaga’s finger, the movement becoming easier as the heat overcomes Tsutsui’s instinctive resistance. His hands are curling into fists against the floor, trying and failing to brace himself more effectively than Kaga is doing already, and then the other boy adds a second finger and Tsutsui can’t wait, he’s reaching to close his fingers around his cock and stroke friction over himself in time with the movement of Kaga’s hand.

There’s a laugh, the mocking edge lost to Kaga’s appreciation or just too faint for Tsutsui to hear over the hazy ringing in his ears. The fingers inside him spread wider, push him open irresistibly, and Tsutsui can hear himself gasping weird wrung-out inhales and can’t remember why he should be embarrassed about it.

“Goddamn,” Kaga says, his voice coming from some endless distance and his fingers tightening at Tsutsui’s knee. “You really do look good when you let yourself relax.”

“ _Kaga_ ,” Tsutsui chokes out around the hoarse drag of his breathing. He’s starting to tremble, his whole body tensing around Kaga’s fingers and under the slide of his own, and he doesn’t really want to come yet but pleasure is heading for him anyway, careless of his desire to hold off any longer.

“Yeah,” Kaga says, and then he’s pulling his fingers away and Tsutsui hears his own throat go tight on a wailing protest, the edge of satisfaction receding away along with Kaga’s lost touch. The hand at his knee lingers, at least, but the angle feels strange now, the slant of his hips uncomfortable and unnecessary without the thrust of Kaga’s fingers to match it, and the heat in his veins is going cold, freezing over into frustration and dissolved anticipation.

Then there’s a hand at his hip, slick-warm fingers drawing tight into a hold, and Tsutsui blinks himself into focus on the other boy’s face as Kaga ducks his head to the fall of his red hair, and rocks his weight up over his knees, and starts to slide his cock into the other boy. Tsutsui arches his back, all his weight coming up to balance between his shoulders and Kaga’s hold on his knee and his one foot still at the floor, and Kaga’s growling something unintelligible and thrusting in deeper. The angle is making the friction bleed direct into Tsutsui’s bloodstream, he can feel himself flushing harder under the desperate hold of his fingers. Kaga’s pants catch against Tsutsui’s skin, the cool of the open zipper digging in against him, but Tsutsui is moving his hand again, dragging up faster over himself, and the flush on his skin has nothing of embarrassment in it at all anymore. This he is certain of, the way he’s certain at the end of a game of Go, and he doesn’t have to reach for the satisfaction he can feel cresting his mental horizon and coming for him. It’s unwinding along his spine, collecting and tingling under his fingertips and low in his stomach, and Kaga is groaning incoherency that sounds like encouragement and moving faster, tipping himself forward until Tsutsui can feel sparks jolting up his spine with every thrust of the other boy’s hips. His vision is blurring past the bounds of near-sightedness, going white and indistinguishable at the edges, and his hand slips, his fingers catch at the head of his cock, and he’s gasping himself over the edge and spilling hot and sticky across the bared skin of his chest. Everything all along his body goes slack, the tension in the arch of his foot and the sharp angle of his leg against Kaga’s hold, but there’s still heat, waves of warmth coming hard on the heels of each other until he’s struggling for breath, until each of Kaga’s continued movements is knocking him airless and shaking his thoughts wide-open and lost.

It goes on for a while, those drowning waves of heat; Tsutsui’s still shaking, still choking for air he can’t remember how to breathe when Kaga gusts out an enormous sigh and his motions stutter to a stop in a burst of heat Tsutsui can feel like it’s hardwired to his spine. The hold at his knee slips free, Kaga’s tipping in to drop over him, and if Tsutsui’s whimpering on every inhale Kaga’s gasping his, the heat of his breath spilling like a wave to catch under the open edge of the other’s shirt.

Neither of them move for what feels like a long time. Tsutsui isn’t sure he could if he wanted to; Kaga’s weight is pinning him down more effectively even than the satisfied exhaustion lacing through his veins. He’s still blinking at the ceiling, waiting hazily for his breathing to catch up to the heat lingering on his skin, when Kaga finally groans and pulls away enough to roll over to sprawl loose-limbed and warm on the floor next to him. They’re both silent for a minute but for the drag of their breathing in the air, but in the end it’s Kaga who speaks first, his voice rough and dragging with lingering heat.

“My win,” and it’s a laugh, catching into the shape of amusement even as Tsutsui huffs frustrated denial at the blurry ceiling.

“I still  _might_  have won,” he insists.

He knows Kaga won’t let him win this argument any more than he would have been able to win the game. But he gets another bubble of amusement rather than irritation, movement in the haze of his periphery, and when Kaga says, “Shut up, Tsutsui,” it’s followed immediately by the warmth of his mouth at the other boy’s.

It’s the conclusion that Tsutsui was angling for. He’s always been good at the end game.


End file.
